


Fault

by YurikoNeko (AlaxxisSade)



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, French Kissing, Heavy Angst, I'm pretty sure no archive warning apply, M/M, Mild S&M, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-Trauma, S&M, Smut, do correct me if I'm wrong, past problems, wow these are all tags I'm using for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaxxisSade/pseuds/YurikoNeko
Summary: Conrad decides it's time to iron things out. In order to get what he wants, he's willing to take it all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot what I was about to say here... //it's 3 am and I need to wake up early I'm screwed
> 
> //but not as screwed as Conrad //shot

Hands tied behind his back. A blindfold around his eyes. The darkness isn’t absolute, but the haziness through the gauze is somehow more intimidating. Shuffling footsteps, hesitant.

                He hasn’t been this scared for many, many years.

                The room he is taken into is cold. The walls are made of stone. No windows, but some sort of vent, probably underground. He can tell, through the air on his skin.

                This is a room that has seen much pain, heard many screams.

                A hard shove behind his knees sends him down, but he keeps his back straight.

                A foot presses hard onto his bent legs, pinning them to the ground. At least nothing breaks.

                And finally, a rough hand yanks the blindfold away, sending his head snapping back and the coarse material burning his eyelids as it tears. Thank goodness he’d closed his eyes in time-- otherwise he would have lost more than just skin.

                “So, what do you want from me?”

                He smiles wryly. In any other circumstances, that should have been his question. He’s the one on his knees here.

                “I came to talk.”

                “No one comes all the way here to talk.”

                He tries to decipher that voice behind him. The voice he has known so long he would recognize it in his sleep, yet the voice that makes a living hiding its true intentions. Cold, yet burning with something else. Calm, yet—not.

                Lord Conrad Weller once more reflects that he never had much of a future as a poet.

                Still, that voice seems to be accusing him. Him, the one tied up and already bleeding slightly. The one in an unknown room, bowed, and completely at the other’s mercy.

                On second thoughts, it probably was his fault.

                After all, he was the one who deliberately went to that place at night, after work. He was the one who waltzed up, as nervous as a boy on his first date but acting calm, to the counter and found the man he was looking for. He was the one who rejected drinks, leaned over, and whispered the code words,

                “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

                On the other hand, that’s a pretty shaky code word.

                “Do you bring people here all the time?” Conrad asks, keeping his voice casual. The little stone room is littered with all manners of strange instruments, things he was accustomed to seeing on the battlefield, and even then usually behind closed doors. Some of the items even seemed to have dried blood on them.

                If his brother knew there was such a room behind his precious subordinate’s bar, the spy would surely be arrested in a heartbeat.

                “Not really. This is the secret menu, for selected people only.” There’s a crack of leather behind Conrad’s head. “However, I believe Lord Weller would make that list any day.”

                Despite himself, Conrad feels his blood racing away from his brain. No—he shakes his head. He came for something else.

                “Josak, we need to talk.”

                “Captain, that is the worst thing you could ever say to a gi—”

                “Forgive me.”

                The high-pitched voice is abruptly cut off. Conrad feels a large hand running through his hair, and then it smacks the side of his head hard. He tastes iron—he must have bitten his lip.

                Ah, to think he was still so naïve after all. Of course this man would want to hit him—of course he deserved to. It’s just that little part of him, the one still holding on to futile hope, wouldn’t stop hoping.

                “If you’re really asking for forgiveness, don’t say it like an order.”

                Conrad lowers his head. “Forgive me. I beg you.”

                “Look at me when you say something like that.”

                Obediently he turns around, shuffling on his knees.

                “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”

                “Get down.”

                He puts his chin, and then his forehead, to the cold stone ground.

                “Lick my feet.”

                Lord Conrad Weller’s body freezes up. For the first time, he doesn’t obey straight away.

                “What, giving up already?” The voice above his head is cold, contemptuous, but slightly relieved, and—slightly pained.

                Conrad brings his face to those pale, skinny feet, and runs his tongue through the toes tenderly. The muscles tense under his touch, but he plays with them until they relax, easing and finally enjoying his service.

                When he lifts his head, he can hear the smile in that voice. “Good boy.”

                Feeling rather pleased with himself, he even barks softly.

                “…Fine, fine, I give.” Josak snaps out first, and Conrad takes the cue to look up at his face. That orange hair still looks limper than usual, and less glossy. His cheeks are hollowed, his eyes listless.

                Conrad frowns. “You’re still unwell.”

                “No, you’re just exaggerating.” Josak runs his fingers through his fair, looking and sounding tired. “What is wrong with you today? What do you want from me?”

                The way he says it is different. They’re not acting anymore now. Conrad finds himself wishing they were. But no, he has to settle things, and it has to be sincere. From both of them.

                “Like I said. I want you to forgive me.”

                Josak smiles, but it’s taut. Under the flickering firelight, his face looks gaunt. “For what?”

                Conrad lowers his head, wordlessly.

                The silence descends on them, heavy, oppressive. Finally, Josak’s smile cracks.

                “…Why? Why do you always have to do this?”

                He grabs Conrad’s face, his fingers digging hard into Conrad’s cheeks. He forces Conrad to meet his eyes, only to see his own in those flecks of silver. Both of them look haunted.

                “If only you didn’t say anything, we could have gone on as we were!”

                The whip had never left Josak’s other hand. Presently he raises it, and without an ounce of hesitation, swings it down across Conrad’s shoulder.

                A bright red gash tears the skin open, but that’s the extent of it. As expected of a professional, he doesn’t lacerate the muscle, much less hit bone. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting like hell, though.

                On the other hand, his heart feels a lot lighter.

                “Why are you smiling…?”

                Josak’s voice breaks, as does the tiny smile on Conrad’s lips.

                “Why are you smiling?! Do you even know what you’re asking of me?!”

                Down comes the whip again, this time on the side of Conrad’s face. It narrowly misses his eye, and the hit feels less steady than before. And, as every soldier knows, face wounds bleed like a bitch.

                Josak’s grip on the whip is shaking. Conrad can already see the regret on his face. He thinks he’s gone too far, he’s retreating back to safety, his heart—

                His heart is going to get away again.

                Conrad easily breaks free from his bonds, reaches out, and grabs the hand around the whip. The fear on Josak’s face hurts him deeper than any physical wound so far, and he opens his mouth to call out to him—

                “I’m sorry.”

                “Don’t you have anything else to say?!” Josak says through gritted teeth, winding the whip around Conrad’s neck in a blur of motion. He yanks Conrad’s face closer, shutting off his windpipe and making him cough. But when Conrad opens his eyes again, Josak is barely an inch away from his face.

                He leans in, and kisses him with bruised lips.

                “Stop fucking with me!”

                Josak shoves him back with full force, and the back of Conrad’s head hits the stone floor with a loud crack. Through the stars swimming in his eyes, he thinks,

                I probably deserved that.

                “…You’re so unfair.”

                That voice so near his ear makes his heart race, and the hand that helps him up is reluctant, but gentle all the same.

                “I’m not apologizing for that.”

                “No, you don’t need to. It’s my fau—”

                “I hate it when you say that, too.”

                Josak pushes him onto a low couch at the side of the room, and pins him down.

                “You say it’s your fault, and sound so miserable that everyone forgives you. You say it’s your fault, and suddenly it’s all about you. Have you ever saved some thought for the other bad guys out there? You’re stealing all their credit.”

                There’s a soft click above Conrad’s head, and of course there are handcuffs attached to the sofa’s armrest. Click, click. Lord Weller finds himself spread-eagled and bound once more.

                “Seisakoku was not your fault.”

                Conrad stiffens up, but Josak gets down over him, running his large hands over Conrad’s torso. His fingers sweep over the wide chest, fingering the wound lightly. Then he begins to undress him.

                “Shimaron was not your fault.”

                Everyone has acknowledged that now, starting from the king. Once Yuuri made the decree, no one could challenge it. That was never the young king’s intention, though, to stifle out independent opinions. Josak could still very well hold Conrad responsible.

                He throws away the torn shirt, and wraps his lips around Conrad’s nipple. Evidently he doesn’t.

                When he surfaces again, he wipes the saliva off his mouth before saying,

                “Julia was not your fault, you selfish bastard.”

                Conrad closes his eyes. That was what everyone always said, and that was what he always needed to hear. But today is the first time he feels he can start to believe it.

                Josak roughly unbuckles his belt, and rips apart the fabric in his way. Conrad’s cock is already standing, and Josak gives him a knowing look as he flicks the tip. A moan escapes Conrad’s lips, and is quickly cut off into a gasp as Josak bends down over him.

                The inside of his mouth is warm and moist, his tongue lithe and powerful. Conrad wants to touch him, get away from him, push him away, pull him closer. He wants him to stop, to go on, but most of all he wants to be able to reciprocate. But every time he tries, the chains clink, and the cuffs chafe his wrists.

                “Josa—aah!”

                Josak’s movements get faster, rougher, and he pulls apart Conrad’s legs, spreading his hands down the insides. Conrad squirms and moans, but can’t pull his hands away. If he could, he just wants to bury his fingers into that orange hair, and never let go.

                The way they are now, is so near yet so unreachably far away.

                Finally, Josak swallows hard, and Conrad releases in his mouth. The cloudy white liquid flows down the side of Josak’s lips as he looks at Conrad, expression unreadable, and eventually spits it all away onto the floor.

                The little part of Conrad’s heart that had lifted in hope crashes back down.

                As expected, Josak is angry at him. But what about?

                “You still don’t know.”

                Josak’s laugh is unexpectedly bitter as he reaches for the lube, and begins preparing himself. Conrad’s heart aches painfully in his chest, and he wants nothing but to slice these cuffs in two with his sword. But—that’s not the answer.

                He looks away, from where Josak is seducing his body with all the wiles of a seasoned professional, and forces his mind to work.

                Josak isn’t doing this simply. He’s trying to tell Conrad something, whether he’s aware of it or not. What is it? The sin that they both know Conrad has committed. Conrad can’t be forgiven until he knows what he’s being forgiven for.

                Josak pulls his fingers out with a wet, smacking sound, and advances on Conrad with dark eyes.

                Stop, Conrad wants to say. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It means nothing this way. But the only way to stop Josak now, is to solve the puzzle.

                Seisakoku… Shimaron…

                Julia…

                “I’m sorry—”

                Josak pauses, about to sit down.

                “—I’m sorry I never looked for you earlier.”

                The hardened lines on Josak’s face finally collapse, and tears glisten in his eyes. As though all the strength left his body, he falls onto Conrad’s chest, face-first.

                “Idiot. What took you so long?”

                “I’m sorry.” Conrad rests his chin on his favorite orange hair, his voice soft. “You’re right, I am an idiot.”

                In Seisakoku, he nearly—no, he had lost Josak. It wasn’t his fault, he had done it to protect Yuuri. Josak wouldn’t fault him for that.

                His fault was not being honest with Josak in the first place. As lifelong comrades, if they had trusted each other as implicitly as they used to, things may have ended differently.

                That was because of Dai Shimaron, but that wasn’t his fault either. He had merely followed orders. Josak would respect him for that.

                His fault was not confiding in Josak when things got hard, when it wouldn’t even affect his mission.

                And it all started with Julia, whose death sent them further apart than ever. That wasn’t his fault. They were on the same side. Josak would have grieved beside him.

                His fault was pushing him away, running away. Going away.

                His fault was never looking back, at the person who had been waiting.

                “Back then—I tried so hard to make you stay, but you wouldn’t. You chose her, you chose that life. So I picked up the pieces of my broken heart, and decided to start over again, as your brother’s man. I gave up, you bastard. I gave up on you, and now you do this.”

                “I’m sorry,” Conrad says again, pressing his lips onto the top of Josak’s head.

                “…I’m sick of hearing that. Try something else.”

                “I love you.”

                Josak’s shoulders stiffen, then he bites Conrad’s nipple. Conrad flinches, even worried for a second that he’d tear the flesh off. Sensing his fearless captain cringe, Josak chuckles instead, a deep sound that vibrates the skin they share in contact.

                “So late. Why now?”

                That’s the problem with knowing each other all their lives. The many missed opportunities, all that lost time—Conrad rests his chin on Josak’s head, staring at the ceiling.

                “Hmm, maybe it’s because I lost you once.”

                “That’s a really bad habit you got there, Cap’n, knowing you love people only after they’re dead.”

                “It is, isn’t it.” Conrad laughs, laughing away how much more there was to it.

                When he chose to go to Shimaron, he already thought he lost it all. That must have been the only reason he could stay calm after finding out what happened to Josak. By then, Josak already wasn’t his to lose.

                But then Yuuri pulled him back, and he saw hope. He saw how much he wanted to be back. He saw his home, his brothers, his favorite godson, he saw them all return to him.

                He saw Josak in a glass coffin.

                That was when he realized that Josak was as important to him as anyone else, or even more so.

                He couldn’t lose him. Not his body, nor his heart.

                He really is a selfish bastard, and a greedy one at that.

                “Josak… Could you untie me now?”

                The spy slowly lifts his head, mischief glinting in his bright blue eyes in place of the tears. Carefully, deliberately, he pulls a small key out of his dress, and, very slowly, puts it between his teeth. Then, cocking his head like a curious child, he flicks the key into his mouth with his tongue, and leans over Conrad teasingly.

                For a moment Conrad is exasperated. Why does it seem like he hasn’t changed at all? Is Conrad the only who feels as though his whole life has changed in this past hour, in this little stone room? Then something occurs to him, and in one instant he’s sealing Josak’s lips with his own.

                He hasn’t changed, because he has always felt this way. So much for giving up.

                They wrestle with their tongues, intruding, exploring, pushing back, inviting in. The tiny key tumbles back and forth, tasting like rust, and more than once threatens to slip away. It’s hard to believe Josak doesn’t have a spare, but for the time being Conrad is more than happy to believe that. Finally he curls his tongue around the key behind Josak’s teeth, and narrowly avoids being bitten as he quickly withdraws.

                Josak licks his lips and then dries them with his tongue, watching his every move. “So you got the key. How are you going to unlock yourself, with your mouth?”

                Conrad smiles at him, and then slams his left hand into the armrest. There’s a loud crack as the joints dislocate, and a soft tearing of skin as he forcefully drags his hand out of the cuff.

                “You’re either crazy, or a natural M,” Josak says, shaking his head. “Even if you get out, what do you plan on doing with your hand like that?”

                Conrad forces the joints back into place, just enough so he can unlock his other hand. The pain that should have turned him pale still can’t win over the heat flushing his cheeks, with blood and something more intangible, something that keeps his face tingling and his heart singing.

                “For you, I’ll be both. And besides—”

                _Click._

                “I have you, don’t I?”

                Finally, he is free.

**Author's Note:**

> This is smut, right? I didn't go all the way, but this is sexy time, right? 
> 
> Trying to answer four challenges at once while making my ConJo stand within one night is probably too much X'D Let's see if it worked...
> 
> 1\. Sexy Time - Yes?  
> 2\. Doing what they love most - In a way?  
> 3\. Pet - ...ahaha...  
> 4\. TBA - this is cheating lol


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